


Blest be the tie that binds, Our hearts in wanton love

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is a Softie, Mycroft is confused, Sherlock is trying hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-14 07:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: “A well tied tie is the first serious step in life.” Oscar Wilde





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft knew with a quiet confidence that he had a truly enviable collection of ties.

A few were prestigious and had been gifted (like the one from Trinity College or the one when he was nominated the President of the Royal Society of Cryptography or that tie from Greenpeace when his personal intervention in the negotiations had finally stopped the whaling in Japan.).

He even had a bow tie sent to him by the Doctor Who production team for having shared his insights into the potential working of the Tardis based on some intriguing experiments which were taking place under his strictest supervision at the Tower of London. He had shared only enough to review the plans for the console and to point out some of the paradoxes caused by the plotlines.

Moffat had later claimed that they had modelled one of the main characters on him eventually and he often wondered if it was The Master or The Silence but he preferred the tingle of mystery whenever he watched the episodes and didn’t really want to deduce it any further.

 _I really must getting old_ he thought fleetingly. He tended to have more of these stream of consciousness ramblings than he used to. _Oh well…..._

Of course all the ‘associations’ he belonged to didn’t exactly hand out ties and in fact operated under the strictest codes and covers. He was an honorary member of The Hashashin founded in the 13th century and from whom the word assassin is derived. The Freemasons didn’t hand out ties and badges either and nor did the Illuminati.

Mycroft sighed. _Such symbolism was for the_ _goldfish and their need to belong_.

As the oldest Holmes son he had of course been offered the inherited (and to some extent obligatory) title of the Knights Templar.

No one knew this but Holmes was in fact his mother’s last name which their father had taken since she was the last of her kind and despite her ability to intellectually outshine every man of her generation, women simply did not inherit titles and deeds in those days.

She did have Musgrave Hall though, till Eurus burnt it down. But the title was kept in guardianship till she had her first son. She had taken time off to raise him and meant to only take a break for a few years but as she realized his outstanding genius and capacity for learning she took a decision that for the greater good of the world he would in fact be her legacy and had given up the idea of going back to her career as a mathematician and coder. Luckily her best work in the field had already been completed by that point and the WorldWideWeb as they had called it was taking off far better than she or her Professor had expected.

Mycroft made a mental note as he thought of all this. _He really ought to call Mummy for a chat_.

Even though, somewhere in his heart, he always felt a slight cold squeeze at the knowledge that maybe, just maybe she loved Sherlock more.

_Couldn’t blame her really._

Sherlock had been adorable as a child. And of course he loved his little brother too. Continued to do so. _More than anyone in the world_.

He paused as that thought ran past his mind.

More than anyone in the world.

He had taught him everything he knew. He had been his friend, philosopher, guide and although relations were strained between them now, he knew they were meant for each other.

_Two halves of a whole._

He paused again. _Where were these thoughts coming from?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chastity was partly out of choice since he simply could not imagine a single person he would tolerate enough to have a conversation and (shudder!) a relationship with, who he also found physically attractive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love how Mycroft lovers commenting on the first chapter totally ignored the fact that it says Mummy Holmes was basically responsible for the invention of the Internet :P 
> 
> It is a major plot twist in another story I am writing. Meanwhile, here is Mycroft and the tie that binds...his heart in wanton love.

It is a good thing that they lived in the 21st century because in earlier times the Knights Templar was known for its austere code of conduct and emphasis on prayer. Members swore an oath of poverty, chastity and obedience. They weren’t allowed to drink, gamble or swear.

Of course as an atheist Mycroft already led a very different life from what was expected. Also, he didn’t exactly live in poverty though his needs, even if exclusive, were few.

Chastity was partly out of choice since he simply could not imagine a single person he would tolerate enough to have a conversation and ( _shudder!_ ) a relationship with, who he also found physically attractive.

Suddenly the image of Sherlock flashed in front of his eyes.

The madman had turned up at the Palace in a bedsheet. Mycroft had stepped on it to tease him but had got an eyeful of a most delightful posterior and an almost Byronic curve to the spine with the head of curls and the pale skin of his back.……

“He walked in beauty like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright, Meet in his aspect and his eyes”

 

_What the hell?!_ He thought to himself. _What was going wrong with him?! This was his brother!! His own flesh and blood._

Which is what makes him so perfect …..a small voice whispered……..He is no goldfish. 

Well neither was Gregory Lestrade really if he was to be fair.

As the second son of a Knight he had of course not been eligible to be one but when his older brother had died in a tragic (but not unforeseen) incident during service to Queen and Country, he had been invited to step up.

In his customary straightforward manner he had refused, saying he didn’t care for this ‘old fashioned mumbo- jumbo and my work at the Met was keeping me very busy already, thank you very much.’

This had led to an estrangement from his father for some years. But Mycroft had been aware of his capabilities as a Detective Inspector at the Scotland Yard. So, despite the man being a few years older than him, he had discreetly recruited him to help keep an eye on Sherlock.

It had astounded him to see how quickly the two had gotten comfortable with each other and although Sherlock always insulted him at crime scenes and pretended to not remember his name, he knew that his brother admired and cared for the D.I.

A lot.

That thought made him feel odd.

_Would their relationship become something more?_ _Would the silver haired Detective Inspector wake up one day to a curly haired Consulting Detective on the pillow next to his?_

As he zoomed out of that fantasy image he saw himself sitting there, on a chair next to the bed and both men were looking at him and smiling.

_Woah woah woah!!!_ he told his mind. _Steady on!_

_Had there been something in the food he had last night at the Embassy dinner?_ The Indian Ambassador knew he had a sweet tooth and always indulged him with some irresistible fantastic creations. This particular one had involved rose water and evaporated milk and saffron.

_Or was it the dinner with the Emissary from Iran the earlier night?_ That was Persian doughnuts with saffron and rose water too. Huh. _Was he reacting to saffron?_ It was a known aphrodisiac. He must remember to avoid it in the future.

While these ruminations were keeping a part of his brain busy, the other part had been coordinating his hands to knot his tie.

Mycroft looked in the mirror at the knot. It was just one angle short of perfection.

He could not remember the last time that had happened. He was stunned.

_Something was surely going wrong._

He opened his cupboard to see if he should pick another tie today since this one had betrayed him by not being perfect.

(Childish to blame the tie of course but the other reason was too awful to contemplate. That he had felt some kind of base sentiment or _emotions_ while thinking of Sherlock (and Gregory?!) which had affected his ability to tie the perfect knot. No, that would simply not do.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron   
> She walks in beauty, like the night   
> Of cloudless climes and starry skies;   
> And all that’s best of dark and bright   
> Meet in her aspect and her eyes;   
> Thus mellowed to that tender light   
> Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
> 
> One shade the more, one ray the less,   
> Had half impaired the nameless grace   
> Which waves in every raven tress,   
> Or softly lightens o’er her face;   
> Where thoughts serenely sweet express,   
> How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 
> 
> And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,   
> So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,   
> The smiles that win, the tints that glow,   
> But tell of days in goodness spent,   
> A mind at peace with all below,   
> A heart whose love is innocent!
> 
> 2\. This is meant to be a Mylock but Gregory suddenly joined the party. No idea what he wants to do here really…… :) Not that I am complaining!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft browses through his tie collection and tries to avoid thinking of Sherlock.

Most of the ties in his possession had been purchased by him over the years.

Mycroft browsed through his collection of 500 ties. He liked them to be a round and even number. When it got to be more he discarded some.

Order and discipline was critical to ensuring that entropy and chaos did not engulf the world.

His brother, meanwhile, was out there trying to do the exact opposite.

 _Damn_ he almost slammed his palm against the cupboard.

_Could he not go one minute without thinking of him?_

_Think of other things_ he ordered his brain.

OK said his brain. Let me think of Anthea.

Anthea had gifted him a tie the first year that she started working for him and he always remembered to wear it on her birthday. It was a small gesture that did not go unnoticed by her sharp eyes but was subtle enough for him to not consider it sentimental or vulgar.

She was, after all, the best agent and personal assistant he had been fortunate enough to have. She always had his back.

_Like Gregory did for Sherlock._

_That’s quite enough now!!_ One part of his brain told the other. _Have other thoughts. Spit-spot._

 

He went to find a new tie to soothe himself.

As his hands carded through the hundreds of ties he felt a deep sense of rightness at the feel and the colours and the symmetries he beheld. The woven silk felt cool and luxurious under his fingertips.

The different textures providing a delightful variety of sensations as he rustled them all against his moving palm, like the strings of a harpsichord.

He had of course the navy silk tie, the burgundy, the wool grenadine, the Prince of Wales check tie, the hound’s-tooth and the polka dot tie. He had had some Macclesfield ties when he started off but as his tastes had become more refined and exclusive, he had not looked at those again. Moved on.

He continued to have around 5 each of the silver-grey and paisley variety because there were days when you didn’t have the mind space to strategize and could just go with them.

He would not be seen dead in a simple striped tie or a plain one of course.

He thought with strong disapproval of some diplomats who did use designer ties from fashion houses of Italy and France. He had always used British and would never have dreamed of offering his custom to anyone else. Marwood, Merchant Fox or then Turnbull and Asser were the ones he favoured, when he didn’t have them bespoke of course.

He was not averse to picking up an exclusive tie from elsewhere around the world during his travels; but only if he could be fairly certain it was one- of- a -kind.

After all, the tie should be a good fit for the one who wears it.

_Exclusive and unique._

He gave himself a pleased smile as he looked in the mirror and tied the new tie and smoothed down the perfect knot, just so.

 

He knew a variety of knots, some of which he believed had been invented for the express purpose of diagnosing idiots, because seriously, who would wear a Fishbone Knot and expect any respect? The Linwood Taurus knot might as well be shouting out ‘I am an insufferable prick’ and the Half Windsor was for sad losers who needed to prop up their self- esteem in these shallow ways but couldn’t get around to perfecting the regular Windsor Knot. Ugh.

He himself favoured the Windsor Knot of course and sometimes the Grantchester. Rarely would he indulge himself with the Trinity Knot.

Fortunately all of them worked well with his bespoke purple silk tie.

It had always been his favourite tie and of a rare deep shade that just called out to every sinful and indulgent whim from the dark side of the moon.

That shade had been associated with royalty earlier since it was prohibitively expensive and Queen Elizabeth the First had in fact passed a decree forbidding anyone other than royalty from using it. The dye was obtained from a small mollusc that was only found in the Tyre region of the Mediterranean Sea and more than 9,000 molluscs were needed to create just one gram of Tyrian purple.

He felt better knowing that thanks to modern chemistry he was not contributing to mollusc genocide in this day and age.

_Or Greenpeace would have been at his door demanding their tie back._

He allowed himself a little smile at this joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The color purple is often associated with royalty, nobility, luxury, power, and ambition. Purple also represents meanings of wealth, extravagance, creativity, wisdom, dignity, grandeur, devotion, peace, pride, mystery, independence, sexual frustration and magic.  
> The perfect colour for the Holmes Brothers isn’t it ?!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, just sometimes Sherlock would look at him in a way that made him feel strange. Hot and cold at the same time.
> 
> He would always make sure to sing God Save the Queen rather loudly inside his head when that happened so that no one would ever deduce how he was really feeling.

Last month, rather surprisingly, Mycroft had noticed a similar shade of purple being worn by someone as a shirt and it had caught his eye. Then it was obvious that his eye being caught had caught the wearer’s eye and so they had engaged in a slow, long drawn out unspoken challenge.

He had no idea who had thrown the gauntlet first but the jousting had certainly begun.

His tie would be a challenge and the Knot a cipher.

 

That evening the wearer of the purple shirt had sent him a text message.

{Handmade silk. Windsor Knot. Meeting with the Queen. SH}

He had looked at the message. Smiled but not replied.

 

The next day he saw a message.

{Come on Mycroft. Don’t be so lazy. SH}

He replied with a photo of his tie—from his chin down to where it went into his waistcoat.

The reply was prompt.

{Old College Tie. Grenadine Knot. Meeting your Trinity Professor for lunch. SH}

Once again he smiled and didn’t reply.

 

The next morning he sent a photo without being reminded. He received a reply in five minutes.

{The Krasny Hourglass knot. The one you have to get right the first time. Pale yellow tie. Hmm. The Dalai Lama visiting again? SH}

Mycroft was forced to raise an eyebrow in admiration. He had taught him well of course but this was excellent.

He had started to look forward to this morning ritual the way he didn’t remember ever having done before.

 

Thursday:

{Burgundy tie and Grantchester Knot. Who died? SH}

Friday:

{Bow Tie. Seriously? SH}

Then another message followed quickly.

{Say hi to Lestrade. SH}

Of course. Sherlock knew tonight was the Met Gala and Mycroft was a patron of the charity that helped families of policepersons killed in the line of duty.

Later that evening he had received one more text message.

{Tell Lestrade I am missing him. He needs to give me a case. SH }

Sherlock was missing Gregory. Well, well, well.

 _Does he ever miss me ?_ Mycroft wondered wistfully. He remembered long summer afternoons when the two of them would sit under a tree in the garden and he would read a book while Sherlock would dig for dinosaur bones. Invariably he would be covered from head to toes in mud by the end and Mycroft would have to get him cleaned up before Mummy would let them back into the house.

As a gesture of ‘gratitude’ Sherlock would usually throw some grubby worm at him that he would have hidden in his pockets or his shoes.

 _What a terrible brat he had been_ Mycroft thought fondly.

And then one day when he had come back from University he had found a changeling. It was almost like aliens had abducted his baby brother and left behind some kind of a Greek God, with a deep voice, like the song of oceans,and those eyes! Like the Aurora Borealis trapped inside them. And those lips! Like a rosebud from the magical gardens of Arabia.

Truly a thing of beauty is a joy forever…..but even Keats would have been hard pressed to find joy in the sulking, irritable and constantly moody young man. He would skulk around the house like a spectre from Hamlet when he wasn’t actively causing explosions in the kitchen with his ‘experiments’. He generally ignored everyone but made an effort to avoid Mycroft in particular and he never really understood why.

Somehow things had never really gone back to the way they were as children.

Mycroft had steeled himself to maintain the distance his brother seemed to want to put between them and struggled to keep him safe and alive.

Somehow they had managed to keep a cordial relationship with occasional sniping of course, but in recent years, _sometimes_ , just _sometimes_ Sherlock would look at him in a way that made him feel strange. Hot and cold at the same time.

He would always make sure to sing God Save the Queen rather loudly inside his head when that happened so that no one would ever deduce how he was really feeling.

But then there were occasions, rare perhaps but real, when they would share an observation or a deduction or even a joke, and Mycroft would feel infinitely less lonely in the ocean swarming with goldfish. He would think of the two of them as dolphins, (ironically recognized as non- human persons now), doing a synchronized dance in the vast ocean, leaping with joy and precision.

_If only they could have more such moments….how blissful life would be._

All the stress of being the British Government, keeping the free world safe, even sitting through Mummy’s dinners, would all be infinitely worth it if he had such company to go back to when he went home…..

He missed Sherlock, he suddenly realized with a dull ache.

_But Sherlock missed Lestrade…..so…_

_._

_._

That evening when Mycroft saw the D.I at the Gala, he was perhaps even more cool in his manner towards him than usual, leaving the brown eyed handsome man a little alarmed. _What had he done wrong? Chased the wrong suspect? Stepped on MI 6 turf during some investigation Somehow offended the Royal Family during the last Press Conference?_

He decided to play safe by asking about the one thing he knew for sure the older Holmes cared about even more than Queen and Country.

‘How is Sherlock?’

“Perhaps I should be asking _you_ that Inspector.” came the chilly reply. “Seeing as you seem to be with him far more often than I am. If you will excuse me, I need to say hello to the Cabinet Minister for Home Affairs.” And with a tip of his head, Mycroft walked away, leaving Greg even more confused.

_Gregory really needed to buy some better ties_ Mycroft thought as he walked away. _That awful blue colour did nothing for him. He needed a deep brown tie perhaps, in plaid._

_What the fudge?_ One part of his brain asked. _Why are you mentally giving the D.I a makeover? We thought we are supposed to dislike him as a rival for Sherlock’s affections?_

 _Stop it all of you,_ another part of his brain argued. _We have no time for such trivial matters. Smile and wave smile and wave._ Oh sorry that was for The Queen. _Smile and nod, smile and nod. We have done our duty so let us leave now. We have that really good book on Roman Mythology we were planning to read tonight._

_About Romus and Remulus-- the twins who were raised by a wolf and then had a romantic incestuous relationship._

That night Mycroft dreamt of Mummy but for some reason she looked like a wolf. Gregory also came by in the dream, silver hair gleaming in the moonlight. Then Remus Lupin and Mozart also peeped in briefly, slightly apologetically, as if only to ensure they completed the wolf family references in his brain. One part of the brain came and chased away Mozart. _Just because his first name was Wolfgang did not qualify him to be a part of this dream._

Order and discipline in all things. Even dreams must follow certain rules.

 

Mycroft woke up feeling slightly confused but even he could not control his sub conscious or remember his dreams entirely so he merely got ready as usual and, as had become a habit already, took a photo of his tie and sent it, a half smile on his face.

The reply came within seconds.

Saturday

{Silver Grey self- patterned and Windsor Knot. Boring. At your desk all day doing paperwork.SH}

 

Mycroft looked out of the window with a mildly distressed far-away look he often had in his eyes when he thought of his brother. He rotated the phone in his fingers.

 _What was Sherlock up to?_ Definitely some vile experiment.

He had been the bane of his existence since he was born. Loud and demanding and unruly. Like his hair.

Mycroft smiled, remembering how as a child Sherlock used to run to him and hug him around the waist and cry when he had done something naughty and Mycroft would ruffle his hair and pat him and always forgive him. And if he had done something naughty that involved others, Mycroft would find some way to negotiate and avoid his punishment or retribution. Always.

_How could he not? He loved him more than anything in the world._

_Even now._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more sexting Holmes brothers' style :)

The next morning was a Sunday.

At 11 am he got a message from Sherlock

_{ ? SH }_

Brother Mine, even I do not wear a tie and go to work on a Sunday. MH

In reply Sherlock sent him a photo of himself with his neck showing above a T shirt collar with his thumb tugging it down.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. _Insufferable brat._

_._

_._

 

Monday:

{White bow tie. I didn’t think there was a Nobel Prize for Surveillance and Interfering ;) SH}

If you cannot use the alphabet Sherlock, please desist with messaging. MH

Of course Sherlock had replied with { :P SH}

.

.

 

Tuesday:

{Pale grey silk. Windsor Knot. Another borrring day at the office. SH}

Followed instantly by

{Don’t you ever crave some excitement, brother? SH}

I think I had enough excitement today with negotiations to stop another genocide in Rwanda and re-opening nuclear bases in Ukraine. Thanks. MH

{Don’t be so stodgy Mycie. There are other things that are exciting beyond your intellectual and diplomatic games. SH}

.

.

 

Mycroft had read the message in bewilderment.

_Was this Sherlock sending such a message?_

His algorithms of analysis would indicate that this was a flirtatious message.

 _Maybe John Watson had got hold of his phone and they were playing some prank on him?_ _That was the only logical explanation. He had been suspicious of the doctor and his influence on Sherlock from the very first day that he had turned up out of the blue and even killed a man to save his brother’s life. He had seen the two of them giggling and behaving like overgrown kids and sighed in exasperation. They seemed to feed off each other’s energies and this seemed like some utterly idiotic prank that the two of them would find hilarious._

So, he spun the phone around in his hands thoughtfully and didn’t deign to respond.

He did wonder briefly though how there could possibly be things more exciting than intellectual or diplomatic pursuits? Weird.

.

.

 

On Wednesday he hesitated and although he took a photo of his tie, he didn’t send it.

This silly game needed to stop. He had enjoyed it as he always did when engaged in witty banter with his brother. Despite their constant bickering and squabbles, deep down he knew that his brother cared for him as deeply as he did.

No. That was patently untrue.

_No one could care for anyone the way he cared for Sherlock._

He would move mountains, empty the oceans, trap the skies, trade the wealth of every country and wage a war with Death itself.

 _Woah woah woah!_ One part of his rational brain said. _Enough with the Alpha male posturing. Deep breath. You are just a negotiator and a diplomat. Not Attila the Hun. Keep Calm and Carry on, remember?! Not Keep Calm and Carrion._

One part of his brain gave a withering look to the other part for this abysmal attempt at a pun _._

_._

_._

 

So Mycroft took a deep breath, put his phone away and got down to work.

At 11 am he got a message anyway.

{Houndstooth. Trinity Knot. This is serious. You have an unsolved mystery. SH}

He almost dropped his phone. _What?! How?? Was his little brother now spying on HIM?!_

_._

_._

 

On Thursday he didn’t send a message nor did he get one.

He kept glancing at his phone all day till even the Prime Minister finally asked him at tea time if he was expecting an important text.

It was only decades of iron control that stopped him from blushing and allowed him to respond coolly. “Apologies for appearing distracted Prime Minister. I assure you my full attention is on the proceedings.” He gave her a thin smile. “Most of my text messages are always important ones anyway.”

.

.

That night when he got home and removed his tie, he looked at it wistfully.

He had enjoyed their little game, but of course that is all it was. One of those whims his mercurial brother had. Something else must have caught his passing fancy. The way he had forgotten Mycroft and moved on to drugs, then to Lestrade and crime scenes, fleetingly Irene Adler and now Dr. Watson.

Sherlock had been the only constant in his own life but Mycroft had been delegated to a shadowy annoying observer in Sherlock’s. Someone he always pushed against, disobeyed and avoided.

Mycroft suddenly felt very melancholy at the thought.

He looked around his bedroom and for the first time he felt a tiny, really tiny tendril of loneliness creep into his heart.

An old poem came unbidden to the surface of his mind.

 

One word is too often profaned, For me to profane it,

One feeling too falsely disdain'd ,  For thee to disdain it.

One hope is too like despair, For prudence to smother,

And pity from thee more dear, Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;   But wilt thou accept not

The worship the heart lifts above   And the Heavens reject not:

The desire of the moth for the star,   Of the night for the morrow,

The devotion to something afar   From the sphere of our sorrow?

.

.

 

He stood for a minute or so thinking and then decided to indulge himself with a glass of the finest Cognac he had been gifted by his counterpart from France. He listened to a recording of the London Philharmonic Orchestra and read some Plato before he went to sleep.

 _What a wise man Plato was_. He had defined **love** as ascending from passion for the individual to contemplation of the universal and ideal. Or a close relationship between two persons in which sexual desire is non-existent or has been suppressed or sublimated.

_Hmm. That was an interesting thought._

Mycroft had a sublime dream that night which involved Sherlock and galaxies and nebulae. They were both floating in the inky blackness of space but he could hear the Music of the Spheres and although it was space he could hear Sherlock calling out to him. They were laughing and carefree and everything felt warm and delightful, not cold and airless as he had expected. It was just the two of them in the entire universe, holding hands and floating free as birds or as planets or meteors.

 _No,_ even in sleep some part of his brain protested _. Meteors crash and burn. But planets will orbit their sun forever. Well at least long enough for it to seem forever. Ok then, planets and stars it was._

He wiggled in his sleep and snuggled into his pillow at that thought.

He did not remember his dream when he woke up but he was in a much better mood than when he had gone to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Definition of platonic love. a) love conceived by Plato as ascending from passion for the individual to contemplation of the universal and ideal. b) a close relationship between two persons in which sexual desire is non-existent or has been suppressed or sublimated.  
> 2\. Musica Universalis or Music of the Spheres is an ancient philosophical concept that regards proportions in the movements of celestial bodies - the sun, moon, and planets - as a form of musica - the medieval Latin name for music. This music is not audible, but simply a mathematical concept.  
> 3\. A Doctor Who mini episode with the same title can be seen here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ju6fvkKlCn8. It is brilliant and mad and inspiring and adorable. Everything one expects from Doctor Who of course :)  
> 4\. From the 1920s onward black tie slowly replaced white tie as the default evening wear for important events, so that by the 21st century white tie had become rare. White tie nowadays tends to be reserved for special ceremonies, two of which include the Christmas ball at Buckingham Palace and the Nobel Prize ceremony. Hence Sherlock’s reference to the Nobel in Surveillance   
> 5\. One Word is Too Often Profaned by Percy Bysshe Shelly  
> ONE word is too often profaned  
> For me to profane it,  
> One feeling too falsely disdain'd  
> For thee to disdain it.  
> One hope is too like despair  
> For prudence to smother,  
> And pity from thee more dear  
> Than that from another. 
> 
> I can give not what men call love;  
> But wilt thou accept not  
> The worship the heart lifts above  
> And the Heavens reject not:  
> The desire of the moth for the star,  
> Of the night for the morrow,  
> The devotion to something afar  
> From the sphere of our sorrow?  
> Its meaning is usually explained as: This was written by Shelley for his dear friend Jane Williams and says that he cannot offer to her what is generally known as love, because the word “love” has been cheapened and vulgarized. But he can offer to her the feeling of worship which has an uplifting effect upon him and which even God does not reject. His reverence for her may be compared to the impossible desire of the moth for the star. He impatiently longs for her just as the night is impatient to be followed by the day. Living as he does in a world of sorrow, he offers to her his heartfelt devotion, and he asks her whether she will accept it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock despairs at the lack of reaction and ups the ante. It is time to untie certain ties :)

After he sent the message on Wednesday Sherlock had despaired.

_They were making no progress!! What more could he do to make Mycroft respond with something?? Anything….call him, admonish him, tell him to stop wasting his time._

He had guessed his tie on Wednesday despite the lack of a photo and Mycroft still hadn’t said anything!! _Didn’t he want to know how?! Didn’t he want to know why?!_

_Was he just indulging his younger brother as a joke?_ _The way he always did_ , Sherlock thought with a sigh….

_Would he ever think of him as anything else? Would he ever stop being pushed around by him and make some demands of his own?_

So Sherlock spent the entire Thursday in despair, playing such tragic tunes on the violin that John went out for a VERY long walk in the evening.

_What could be his next move?_

He sent a desperate text to another number.

.

.

The next day was Friday and Sherlock received a discreet anonymous package.

He had ripped the covering open to find half a dozen ties. All bespoke and in rich jewel colours.

He knew exactly who it was from.

He had felt a strange thrill on seeing them. He had strewn them all over his bed and studied them.

On Saturday he sent Mycroft a photo of the rich crimson tie loosely strung on either side of his neck

On Sunday he sent him a photo of his shirt unbuttoned and the deep emerald tie wrapped around his hand.

.

.

Mycroft had looked at those photos for a very long time.

_Did Sherlock know what he was doing?_

He may be a genius but sometimes he had no clue about relationships.

_The photos were getting more and more…..erotic?_

_._

_._

Then on Sunday evening Sherlock had sent him a photo with the royal blue silk tie held between his teeth.

Something snapped inside Mycroft’s brain.

Or something gave up. Or gave in. He wasn’t sure which.

And although it was evening, he searched for his deep pink tie with the golden yellow tulip pattern and tied a special knot and sent the photo.

.

.

He realized that the message had been seen but there was no reply from Sherlock.

He waited for half an hour and then felt foolish for having done that. He never gave in to such impulse.

_What would Sherlock say to him?_

He groaned. He had made a fool of himself. He had managed to hide his feelings and desires even from himself for so long. Decades in fact.

_Why had he done this??_

He wanted to hit himself on the head with his book.

_Idiot!_

_._

_._

Just then the doorbell rang. _Who could it be at this time?_

There was no staff on a Sunday so he went to open the door and saw his brother there, out of breath, as though he had been running.

“Truelove Knot? With yellow tulips for hopeless love?? Really Mycie?!” Sherlock said, eyes burning with an odd kind of fire.

Before he could register what was happening, Sherlock had entered and slammed the door shut and pushed him against the wall. Mycroft found his tie being removed by his brother’s frantic fingers and pulled out and thrown to the floor.

Sherlock looked into Mycroft’s eyes briefly, as if asking for permission, and finding no denial, his trembling fingers tried to remove those mother of pearl buttons holding that steely grey shirt down.

_Off, off with you_ …he muttered.

But Sherlock’s fingers couldn’t manage the buttons and he seemed unable to wait a moment longer so he just gave up on it and cupped Mycroft’s face with his hands and when their lips met, finally, _finally,_ Mycroft felt as though he was floating in space, just the two of them in the entire Universe.

.

.

The earth was still lava and hot melting iron and galaxies were forming light years away.

The moon was glowing like a furnace and storm winds were gathering across the Solar System.

They were floating, connected by their lips, surrounded by the inky blackness of space and new worlds were being created around them, streams of stardust weaving past.

And it was raining ties.

All around them was a cascade of ties, floating free like fronds, in so many myriad colours and styles.

 

_Focus on the task at hand!!_ One part of his brain admonished.

_Forget the physical ties and look at this new tie that is binding your heart in wanton love!_

_Yes! Grapple it to thy soul with hoops of steel!_ Another part reminded.

.

.

So Mycroft kissed Sherlock back, gently at first, as though he could scarce believe that this was no longer a dream, and when a hot tongue found its way through his lips, then suddenly fiercely with the pent up longing of decades.

He wanted to absorb him and be absorbed by him and never be separated by any distance from him at all. Ever.

Sherlock’s warm fingers were everywhere against his skin, holding his face, on his back inside his shirt and he kept saying his name over and over again between passionate kisses and _oh_! _he wanted him as much as he had desired him. _

_Mycie Mycie I love you….I love you so much…Mycie please…….please Mycie_

_._

_._

_Oh. This was bliss. This was heaven. This was love._

_This was all that had ever mattered and ever would._

.

.

Whenever Mycroft remembered that day, and he thought of it often, with a beatific smile on his face, he was quite certain that in the background he had heard the Music of the Spheres playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any guesses as to who sent Sherlock those ties?! Since I am travelling again I have to make the big reveal already ! Check out the next chapter :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Invisible threads are the strongest ties” ― Friedrich Nietzsche.

 

**Epilogue:**

Sherlock sent Anthea a truly stunning 24 karat diamond as a gift for all her help in getting through to his one true love. After all, all was fair in love and war and he truly HAD learnt from the best. Turning an embedded agent was a valuable skill in both situations.

He knew she didn’t care for jewellery but he was sure she could buy something with it. She had said that the half dozen ties were a gift from her though.

“Anything for the happiness of the best boss anyone could ever have.” was her exact message.

Anthea had sold the diamond since she really didn’t have any use for jewellery and had bought herself a Mercedes motorbike.

When Sherlock saw the photo she sent him later (with herself in full riding gear on the bike) he had thanked his stars that Mycroft was not interested in women and that Anthea had been on his side and not his competition.

.

.

He had always known that his love for his brother exceeded any other passion in his life. He had never seen any such desire in Mycroft’s eyes, just a constant worry and compassion and ( _ugh)_ brotherly love.

But Mycroft always took him into his bed whenever he ran there if the noises in his head got too much or something scared him. Even when he was much older and he went into Mycroft’s bedroom at night when he was back from college on holiday, he never pushed Sherlock away.

Except for that fateful night when he was 15 and he had been unable to stop himself, once, just once he had tried to kiss Mycroft and he had been pushed away. Mycroft had seemed to be almost trembling with disgust and rage.

That had pained him more than he could have imagined. _Mycroft would hate him now_ he thought in a panic. _He would have to pretend he had been too sleepy or unwell or something. Anything._

And so he had put on a cool façade when he went down for breakfast the next day only to find that Mycroft had apparently left early to go back to college.

.

.

So he had tried to hide his feelings and tried desperately to push his older brother away and even to drown the feelings and desires in drugs.

But seeing the pain in Mycroft’s eyes when he had found him was almost as bad as the pain of un-requited love so he had reluctantly cleaned himself up.

He had found some hope with Greg who had given him some stability and support and a way to keep his mind busy but it had made him even more aware of missing what he really craved.

A brilliant mind that was compatible, that understood him like no one else ever could.

The final straw had been John Watson. He had bonded with him so well and become such a good and loyal friend in such a good time. But that had somehow made his craving even worse.

He wanted this domestic bliss at 221B but with the man he loved. He wanted to see him wake up and make tea and sit and watch TV. Not John.

He wanted to play the violin for his one true love and then turn around and see the joy and love on his face.

He craved intensely even more for the love he truly wanted and which was causing every fibre in his body to ache and he simply couldn’t take it anymore.

He wanted those elegant fingers running through his hair the way they had when they were younger. He wanted to sleep on that soft belly and be comforted. He wanted to …. _oh but he wanted so much more than that too_. He wanted to possess his heart and his lips and claim his body.

He wanted him to say not just Brother Mine but only _Mine!! Mine!!_

.

.

The only hope he had was that Mycroft had never had anyone significant in his life so far. _How could he? Amongst all these goldfish…._

So he had to act on this now, finally and at least KNOW if it was possible.

.

.

After taking that decision he had tried everything—flirting with Greg in front of his brother, teasing him with a bedsheet in Buckingham Palace, refusing cases on the phone so he would be forced to come to Baker Street to meet him, behaving childishly with John.

He would defy him and annoy him in the hope that one day Mycroft would break down and maybe manhandle him or get angry enough with him in public to want to make up to him with a private dinner.

But Mycroft simply never got mad at him and neither did he seem to deduce what Sherlock was trying to do.

_He did always have a massive blind spot where his brother was concerned. Sigh._

_._

_._

So, although he was rather terrified of approaching Anthea and revealing his feelings for his brother, he realized he needed some inside help.

She had agreed without as much as a raised eyebrow or even a blink.

_No wonder she was a fixture in his brother’s office. She was the Ice Queen to the Ice Man._

Her very first piece of advice to buy himself a deep purple silk shirt and wear it when his brother came around had worked astonishingly well in getting things started.

 _Brainy has always been his sexy, remember that_ \-- was her next piece of advice. _He already knows how intelligent you are. He taught you everything you know. So find some new unexpected way to impress him with your intelligence._

After that the whole flirting with deductions of his ties was a doozy, given that Anthea would inform him the earlier evening of the highlights of Mycroft’s schedule.

 _Ah well, he better make sure she always stayed on his side_ , he mused, as he rubbed some ointment onto his mildly chafed wrists, because while his brother may be considered the Most Dangerous Person in Britain, Anthea was clearly even more so!

.

.

And once again we remember Oscar Wilde: “A well tied tie is the first serious step in life.”

.

.

Mycroft still had 500 ties in his collection but he had started to favour the purple silk tie with the simple Windsor Knot.

Because it was the easiest to remove and the material worked best as a restraint, without causing much chafing.

He really needed to buy more of them given that Sherlock would writhe and struggle so much against them,( especially when they were close to the finish), that he had already destroyed five of them, frayed against where he would be tethered to the bedpost.

Tomorrow, after he had fed his beautiful energetic lover some breakfast he would take him shopping and buy him a new purple shirt to replace the one which had been torn off in last night’s passionate struggle.

Then he would also get himself some new ties.

He smiled. He thought a dozen would probably last them till Christmas.

Since Sherlock had explained about Gregory, maybe he would also get the D.I that deep brown plaid tie for Christmas.

Or maybe for next week.

After all, ever day felt like Christmas now….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for Anthea’s bike was inspired by the amazing Mystrade series At Least There’s The Football https://archiveofourown.org/series/9540 which has one of the most kickass Antheas ever. And what a back story too. Wow.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this story and do check out the ficrec+ compendium I am putting together. It is called "For the Love of All Things Mycroft ' and do send in your suggestions for things to be added in it !

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Title is taken from this hymn written by John Fawcett.
> 
> Blest be the tie that binds, Our hearts in Christian love;  
> The fellowship of kindred minds, Is like to that above.  
> Before our Father’s throne, We pour our ardent prayers;  
> Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, Our comforts and our cares.  
> We share each other’s woes, Each other’s burdens bear;  
> And often for each other flows, The sympathizing tear.  
> When we asunder part, It gives us inward pain;  
> But we shall still be joined in heart, And hope to meet again.
> 
> 2\. Freemasons: They are an international organisation often shrouded in mystery. Conspiracy theories and controversy have dogged the Freemasons throughout their existence, fuelled by their secretive image, but for some they are just a gentleman's club devoted to charitable giving.
> 
> 3\. The Hashshashin or Nizari, were a mysterious band of Muslim assassins that operated in the Middle East during the 13th century. The group used guerilla tactics in their battle against their enemies, including espionage, sabotage, and, most famously, political assassination. They were known for their extreme discretion in minimizing civilian casualties. Their legend soon grew, and they became well known contract killers, supposedly performing jobs for the likes of King Richard the Lionheart. This has been widely discredited, but the term “Hashshashin” as it refers to the Nizari is believed to be the origin of the modern word “assassin.”
> 
> 4\. The Knights Templar: The Knights Templar was a large organization of devout Christians during the medieval era who carried out an important mission: to protect European travellers visiting sites in the Holy Land while also carrying out military operations. They were exempt from paying taxes, permitted to build their own oratories, and held to no one’s authority, except the Pope’s. The Knights Templar set up a prosperous network of banks and gained enormous financial influence. Their banking system allowed religious pilgrims to deposit assets in their home countries and withdraw funds in the Holy Land.


End file.
